


The Monster You Made Me

by Fade_to_Ebony



Series: Fallout Chronicles [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol, And Now For Something Completely Different, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Conditioning, Dark Past, Death, Death Threats, Dialogue Heavy, Drugs, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Epic Bromance, Explicit Language, Fantastic Racism, Flashbacks, Gen, Gun Violence, Here Comes The Science, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Memories, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Near Death Experiences, Night Terrors, No Romance, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Sexual Slavery, POV Alternating, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Torture, Physical Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychoanalysis, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychology, Psychotropic Drugs, Slavery, Smoking, Threats, Threats of Violence, Torture, Trauma, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fade_to_Ebony/pseuds/Fade_to_Ebony
Summary: A collection of memories detailing how Charon became the man that he is and how the Lone Wanderer freed him from the binds of his contract and conditioning. Set between the events ofTake It Back!andBroken Steel.
Series: Fallout Chronicles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178576
Kudos: 13





	1. Prologue: Enmity

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters are **not** beta read. Corrections will be made in post as I get to them.
> 
> Chapters will alternate between Charon and Avery’s memories.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon isn’t warming up to his new employer.

“Let’s start from the beginning.”

Charon eyed his employer irately, watching as the 20-year-old _boy_ clasped his hands together and folded his right leg over his left, letting his foot dangle in the air. Charon didn’t want to talk. This was a waste of his _and_ his employer’s time.

“My contract entitles you to my combat services and nothing else. I may refuse orders that compromise or are otherwise irrelevant to your protection. That includes idle conversation.”

The Lone Wanderer smiled at him sadly. He hated that fucking look, the one he gave when he felt pity or concern for him. He didn’t want his pity, nor did he want to be here in this cramped office space. He just wanted to do his job.

Charon returned his expression with a scowl. The Lone Wanderer sighed and spoke, “It wasn’t an order.”

Charon remained silent. His employer scrunched his brows together, like he did when he was in deep thought, and scrawled something down on a notepad. Charon ground his teeth behind his lips to bite back an aggravated growl.

“Does it hurt you to remember?” he asked, sliding his pencil behind his ear.

“No.”

He plucked the pencil right back out and wrote something else. Charon rolled his eyes.

“Talking helps, you know,” the Lone Wanderer said, now tapping the pencil against his knuckles. “It can relieve tension and stress. And you can trust me not to talk about you to anyone else if that’s your concern; that would violate my code of ethics.”

Charon almost wanted to laugh. He could _trust_ him? He probably just wanted the information so he could learn to manipulate him on the same level Ahzrukhal had managed. Charon’s lips contorted into a nasty snarl at the reminder of his previous employer. He had been the most vile of them all, which was quite a feat if he was being honest.

“I am not required to converse with you. Only to protect you.”

The Lone Wanderer sighed again and set down his pencil and notepad. He suddenly appeared very exhausted. “You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Charon had half-risen off the old sofa he’d been sitting on when he froze. “‘Sir’ is typically used to refer to your superior. I am no such thing. To you, it’s Avery. Or, if you feel so inclined to be formal, Dr. Ward.”

“Is that an order?”

His employer closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “No, but I would _prefer_ to be on a first-name basis with you. I consider you a friend, after all.”

Charon’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t have friends and he was reluctant to be “friendly” with a man who had, for all intents and purposes, _bought_ him. When Charon did nothing but stare, he shook his head. “I’m giving you the choice. You don’t have to.”

Charon remained stock-still, but on the inside, he was reeling. He was being given a choice? He’d never been allowed such a privilege. All of his employers had kept him on a tight leash, fearing the consequences should they loosen their grip.

They were right to be afraid.

His employer smiled at him again and Charon clenched his fists. This had to be some sort of sick joke or mockery. Maybe the boy derived pleasure out of torturing him. He wouldn’t be the first.

But the Lone Wanderer only continued to smile, though Charon’s scowl had turned into a look of pure spite. Uncharacteristically, he asked, “May I go?”

“Ah, yes, my apologies... I didn’t mean to keep you.” At that, Charon’s anger gave way to mild confusion. Why did he apologize to him so frequently? He didn’t owe him anything. He decided not to dwell on it and was gone moments later.

That was when Charon began to have his doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to make this rather brief... let’s see if I can stick to that this time.
> 
> This is going to be written mainly to tie up the loose ends left behind in my previous stories regarding Charon. As I’ve mentioned before: I _love_ psychology; it is by far the most intriguing science to me. That being said, I couldn’t just leave his story on the note that I did.
> 
> One of my Psychology professors once told me: Psychology is the perfect field for those prone to overthinking.
> 
> ... I think he may have been on to something. 🤔
> 
> At any rate, this will also serve as a transitory work while I smooth out the details of my Fallout 4 fic. At this point, a basic premise has been developed for an OC, but it’s going to take a bit more finesse to get the idea running (if I can even manage it). So, in the meantime, enjoy some not-so-smutty plot!
> 
> Also, if you have any suggestions, criticism, advice, etc., _please_ leave a comment! These things are a writer’s best friend and can only serve to improve my work.


	2. The Document Speaks for Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery reviews Charon’s contract.

_Dear God, what have I done?_

Avery, Charon and Dogmeat had made it back to Megaton with little trouble. Fawkes had decided to remain behind to study the artifacts in the old museum, promising to catch up with them later. But aside from the odd stray molerat and mongrel, nothing had bothered them.

Now the three of them were sat in his living room, Dogmeat in his lap and Charon glaring at him from his spot on the sofa. Despite Avery’s best attempts to get him talking, he’d refused to say a word. The only reason he even knew his name was because Ahzrukhal had mentioned it in conversation before the giant ghoul had executed him.

At the time, Avery had thought he was purchasing a basic mercenary contract. He cursed his own haste not to gather the details. Charon wasn’t a mercenary; he was a _slave_.

He’d bought an enslaved man.

Avery’s hands shook as he read through the contract for probably the fifth time since arriving home. He was looking for a loophole, anything he could find to void the thing. However, it was written in such a way that protected the client, but offered no way out for the employee. Violence on the owner’s (and he shivered at that phrasing) end would invalidate the contract and allow the employee to stop serving their current employer, but they had to find someone else to hand it off to within 72 standard hours or they were to “self-terminate.”

Furthermore, if anyone attempted to destroy the document, the employee was to protect it at all costs, even if that meant killing the perpetrator. If they succeeded, both parties were to be eliminated.

What the hell was he going to do now? The idea of owning a person made him feel sick. Even worse was the thought of who could possibly have done this to him. What did Charon have to endure to become the mindless agent he was? How long had he been this way? Ghouls lived a very long time, centuries or more unless killed by some external factor. What if the one(s) responsible turned him into a ghoul on purpose to extend his perpetual servitude?

This was disgusting. This was foul. The very concept of it spat in the face of every single human right imaginable.

Avery dropped his head into his palms and let out a breath to calm himself. Dogmeat whined at his distress and licked the part of his cheek not covered by his hands. He scratched behind his ears to let him know he was okay and the dog lowered his face back into his lap.

Charon was still staring at him from across the room. Avery would almost swear the ghoul didn’t blink. He just sat there quietly, awaiting a directive.

This was all so disturbing.

Avery tucked the contract away into his pocket. He’d store it in a safe later to ensure nobody stole him. If he was now in possession of the unfortunate man, he’d do his best to make the situation as comfortable as possible for him until he found a solution. In the meantime, he wouldn’t allow anyone to take him and abuse him.

“Are you hungry?” Avery asked, patting Dogmeat in an unspoken command to move. He huffed, but obeyed.

“I do not require food.”

Avery had started for the kitchen, but turned his head to look at the ghoul incredulously. “That can’t be true. I know ghouls can make due with less than a human, but to not eat at all? That’s impossible.”

Charon offered no reassurance or denial of that claim, only trailed Avery’s motions with his chalky eyes. “Eat. It will help you keep up your strength.”

“As you wish, Master.”

Avery bristled and whirled to face him completely. He was visibly angered now. “I am not your master. Do not call me that again.”

“You hold my contract,” Charon pointed out. “Therefore, you are my master.”

“Christ,” Avery muttered, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose. This situation was devolving too quickly for his liking. He didn’t want to use his authority this way, or really at all, but this was too much...

“Do _not_ call me master. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Avery pulled in a deep breath and felt his head begin to throb. At least referring to him as “sir” lacked the depravity of “master.” He would deal with breaking him of the habit entirely later. He could tell that this was going to be a long and difficult process. Charon was a damaged man that needed professional help and specialized treatment if he was going to overcome the tinkering done to his mind.

“What would you like to eat?”

“Whatever you prefer I eat, Sir.”

Avery threw up his hands in silent defeat, but he wasn’t angry at Charon. No, he was angry at the bastards who had done this to him in the first place. The only other time he’d been this upset was when Overseer Almodovar ordered the death of Jonas and performed a military-style interrogation on his life-long friend (who happened to be the man’s own daughter), Amata.

“I’ll just cook up some of the yao guai Fawkes helped me kill,” he said to himself. The whole time he was busy, Charon watched with a blank face. Avery almost felt justified comparing him to an android, but then he remembered Harkness and concluded that no, even an android showed more emotion than he did. It was creepy how cold and unfeeling the ghoul seemed to be.

Though, Avery supposed he would have to be to survive whatever horrid past he’d experienced.

The food took about an hour to complete, and during that time, Charon kept his eyes glued to him. Whenever Avery met his gaze, he could see something below the surface that made a chill slither up his spine. Nobody had ever given him such a malicious look before and it put him on edge.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announced, though it was hardly necessary with the ghoul watching his every movement. He filled three plates, two with yao guai steaks and fresh tatos, and the other with the leftover fat he cut from the meat. He served Charon first before setting the third plate down for Dogmeat, whom happily chomped away at the rare treat, before returning to his chair with his own food.

Charon maintained his stare for the entire duration of their meal. Avery did his best to ignore it, but it was the most uncomfortable dinner he’d ever had. Charon finished eating way before he did, showcasing that he did indeed have an appetite in need of satisfaction, but he was relieved when he finally took the last bite of his own meal.

After collecting their dishes and cleaning them, he set them out to dry on an old ripped shirt. He looked over his shoulder to find Charon still staring. Whether he was trying to intimidate him, he couldn’t be sure, but he trusted him. Perhaps that was foolish of him, because he’d certainly given him several reasons to be concerned, but through the hardened layers of his exterior, he could see the man beneath.

Maybe he’d get the honor of meeting that man someday.

“I’m going to retire for the evening, Charon,” he began as he wiped his hands clean. “I’m sorry I don’t have a room prepared for you. Do you mind taking the couch until I find you a proper bed?”

Charon finally, _finally_ , blinked. “I do not require sleep.”

Avery couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. “Rest, Charon. I won’t have you going hungry or tired while you live under my roof.”

“Yes, Sir.”

This was going to be a grueling journey for the both of them.


	3. Operation: Toronto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon recalls the beginning of the Sino-American War in Canada.

It is the year 2072. A young man, barely 25, stands at attention for his general as he surveys his line of nameless soldiers, each issued a standard T-45d suit of power armor. Designation: Charon corrects the slight bend of his spine and stands at his full height when General Babcock returns to his side at the front of the line, but not before he catches his slight nod of approval.

Charon is newly-assigned to General Babcock following the termination of Designation: Pluto. The situation in Canada is deteriorating as Canadian natives protest and riot against America’s occupation and subsequent theft of the country’s dwindling resources. The Chinese have successfully invaded Anchorage, Alaska and maintain control of America’s last remaining oil rigs. Their assignment is simple: quell the uprising of Canada’s citizens by any means necessary.

General Babcock and company are currently stationed on the outskirts of Toronto, a hotbed of anti-American sentiment. They must be silenced.

The general is a tall and burly man, though standing beside Charon in a full issue of power armor dwarfs him as he only adorns army fatigues. He is briefing his soldiers, though Charon can’t quite make out the details. They aren’t important. His only prerogative is to protect his employer.

The briefing subsides and General Babcock yells “Move!” while motioning to different locations with a single palm. The suits of power armor scatter to their positions and begin encroaching into the streets of the city from all sides. Chaos erupts.

Civilians pour from their homes, tossing molotovs and shooting fireworks into the oncoming tide of American soldiers. Some carry guns, but their bullets collide uselessly into the power armors’ reinforced plating. Flames lick against their suits, yet they do nothing but blacken the outer edges of the poly-laminate composite. Minigun rounds are fired into the converging crowds and rip through their targets. Blood runs through the streets as American forces advance and trample the corpses of the dead.

The city is lit aflame and creates an imposing red backdrop against a sky darkened by smoke and cinder. Civilians begin to flee, but missile launchers are deployed for long-range targets. They rend people and buildings alike, causing them to topple and crash into adjacent structures. It becomes a domino effect, falling brick and cement blanketing the city in a thick plume of dust.

General Babcock watches, the flames and destruction reflecting in his eyes. A smile forms on his face as he quietly proclaims “victory,” pulling his cigarettes from a buttoned pocket and lighting one up to celebrate the moment.

Charon watches, too, but in silent horror as the atrocities unfold. The bodies of men, women and children of all ages line the crumbling pathways of a once glorious city, laid to ruin in a single evening. Nothing remains but the crackle of fire and demolished buildings, either settling or collapsing further. All of the city’s residents have been slaughtered.

American troops begin emerging from the rubble, hardly a scratch or ding on any of them. They tote their weapons proudly, many of them strutting unapologetically through what has now become a wasteland. Charon feels as if he is going to be sick, but dutifully holds it in.

It is then that he hears footsteps approaching from a different direction. They are light and nearly weightless, the only indication of them the crunching of glass and broken rock beneath the soles of bare feet. Charon quickly turns to face what he deems a threat. It is a woman in a shredded pink dress, streaked with burn marks from rounds that narrowly missed her. Her skin is blackened by soot, making her dark brown eyes appear bright on her face. Something glints beneath the dirty and bloodied fingers of her right palm.

A kitchen knife.

Charon quickly withdraws his shotgun and takes aim. The general, so oblivious in his mental celebrating, hasn’t noticed that his bodyguard is on alert. The woman leaps at the unarmored man, releasing a maniacal screech. “You killed my husband and my baby!” she screams, before her vocal cords erode to produce more incoherent sounds. The general turns just in time to see her lifeless body fall to the dirt.

The barrel of Charon’s shotgun is smoking. He shot her right between the eyes, causing her head to burst. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, unable to bear the image of blood spraying from her beheaded neck. The general laughs heartily and smacks him on the shoulder pauldron.

“That-a-boy, Charon! Way to put a Commie sympathizer in their place!” He steps over to the corpse and stamps his boot into her back, causing another deluge of blood to flow forth before it stems to a trickle. The crowd of soldiers both cheer and jeer as he snuffs out his cigarette into her tattered clothing. Though Charon shows no sign of his inner struggle, he is failing to come to terms with what he has just done.

An innocent woman, grieving the loss of her newly-departed family, is now dead because of him. An entire city has been razed to the ground before his very eyes.

What was it all for?

Charon awakes suddenly, though his eyes refuse to open. He is surrounded by darkness and he feels something crawling up his leg. It pricks its claws into his skin as it draws closer, loosing a menacing chuckle as it caresses his still-slumbering form. He takes a breath, but the next refuses to come. His fear and panic have paralyzed him.

A breath that is not his own envelops his ear and laughs at him. “I daresay you’ll be a killing machine before you know it...”

He finally regains control of his body and his eyes flare open. He grabs at the space beside his head, but his fingers fail to latch on to anything. Nothing is there.

He is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this is speculation considering not much is said of America’s conquest of Canada in the Fallout universe, and on the same note, General Babcock is only mentioned.
> 
> For those interested in reading more about where these lore tidbits are coming from, I will leave some direct links at the end of each chapter’s notes.
> 
> Side note: if I randomly stop updating this, it’s because I’ve been seized by Homeland Security for my questionable browser history. Please tell them I’m just an author.
> 
>  _Sino-American War_ : https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Sino-American_War
> 
>  _The annexation of Canada_ : https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/United_States_annexation_of_Canada
> 
>  _General Buzz Babcock_ : https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Buzz_Babcock
> 
>  _T-45 power armor_ : https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/T-45_power_armor


	4. Hope Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon surprises Avery.

Charon is staring at him again. Avery holds eye contact with him, though the familiar animosity he sees brimming makes every hair on his body stand on end. He knows that Charon hates him, but he has trouble bestowing blame upon him for that. After all, if his coldness is any indicator, he has experienced the worst that humanity has to offer. He doesn’t expect the man to take to him right away.

However, Avery can’t say that he doesn’t find this tiring.

Charon has been traveling with him for nearly two months now, and he is _very_ good at what he does. Avery wouldn’t have imagined a man of his stature to be as proficient in stealth and hand-to-hand as he is. If he wanted you dead, you were as good as. His skills spoke of intense professional training backed with centuries of experience.

Truth be told, Ahzrukhal had been wasting his potential by having him stand in a corner all day. Avery supposed it was a good thing that the evil bartender couldn’t see beyond his greed to extend his reach, because with Charon, he could easily have done so.

But Avery wished he could get him to open up a little. Being able to talk is one of the first signs of recovery, but Charon had shown no hint of cracking anytime soon.

“Charon, can I be honest with you?” Avery readjusted himself in his chair, folding one leg underneath him and slouching forward to place his elbow on an armrest. He perched his chin in his upturned palm and laid his notepad aside.

“You are my employer. You do not require my permission to do anything.”

Avery released a wistful breath. Charon was always so punctual. “I’m concerned about you.”

Charon’s expression remained unchanged. “Is my performance unsatisfactory?”

“No, Charon, it isn’t anything like that...” Avery ran a hand through his hair. “How do I explain this in a way that you’ll understand? I... am worried about your mental state.”

Charon stayed as he was, still and unmoving, as if he was a statue. “I am uncompromised if that is your fear.”

“I... no. That’s not what I mean; though, I wish you were.”

A subtle twitch could be seen on Charon’s face. “If I was, then I would be defective.”

“Fuck!” Avery cursed. It was unlike him to do so, but the ghoul’s mechanical nature was getting under his skin. “You’re not a machine, Charon! You’re a human being! You’re allowed to feel emotions and talk to people!”

Avery had stood from his chair and began to pace. Charon’s eyes followed him back and forth. He could physically see the kid wracking his brain as he ruffled his mousy brown hair.

Avery sighed and his shoulders fell. He wasn’t acting professional in the least, but he didn’t know how to not take it personally. It was difficult for him to simply abide by such blatant disregard of somebody’s wellbeing. “I just want to help you...” he said to himself, though Charon heard it, too.

“Do not waste your time.”

Avery was taken aback. Charon was, of course, still looking at him, but he seemed to have relaxed the slightest bit. “Leave it be. I do not desire your help or anybody else’s.”

Avery’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he just heard.

Charon had just admitted he had a problem, whether he was fully aware of it or not.

Avery could tell the grin on his face looked absolutely stupid just by how it was stretching his cheeks, but he didn’t care. Charon arched a brow at him in silent question, but Avery didn’t dare push his luck. It was a small breakthrough, but it indicated the beginning of something more. It meant that Charon was actually capable of this.

“Sir?”

When Avery peered at Charon again, his brow rose higher. It was an expression he had never seen on the ghoul’s face before, and he wanted so much to laugh, but he didn’t want Charon to take it the wrong way. He would celebrate later when he was back inside his room in the basement and he was alone.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Avery said through his smile. He heard Charon grumble something that sounded like “weird smoothskin” as he stretched and cracked his spine. Then he disappeared through the doorway to return to his own room.


	5. And We Created Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon undergoes an unexpected change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double post today, woo-hoo! I was going to wait a day to release this, but I’m too impatient; so, have another!

Four years following Operation: Toronto, Canada is annexed into the United States. Designation: Charon is reassigned to Colonel Robert Spindel as General Babcock no longer requires his services. Their primary objective is to oversee research being conducted by West Tek in California.

It is an uneventful transition. Charon and Colonel Spindel observe as a team of scientists make new headway in what has recently been coined “Forced Evolutionary Virus.” Charon doesn’t understand anything the scientists say when he overhears them conversing amongst themselves, but that is not his job. He is only required to protect his employer.

One day, Charon notices one of the eggheads have taken an interest in him. They approach Colonel Spindel and whisper to him. Two sets of eyes land on Charon before the conversation resumes. Charon hears nothing.

When the scientist leaves, the colonel dismisses Charon to his sleeping quarters. An hour passes before the colonel enters his room with a different scientist. She is holding a medical tray containing a small vial of orange liquid and several syringes. Charon flashes a questioning glance to his superior, and the man tips his chin at him as the scientist comes closer.

She snaps a heart monitor onto the end of his finger and a machine to his left beeps in acknowledgement. Next, she wraps a blood pressure cuff around his bicep. It squeezes him tightly to the point that he can feel a vein pulsing beneath. She presses a stethoscope to his arm and then the pressure of the cuff releases. She seems pleased by the results as she nods to herself.

“Charon, present your arm and fold up your sleeve.” It is a command, and Charon must obey. He does as he is told, and the scientist pulls on a pair of blue rubber gloves before she wraps a tourniquet around his elbow. She bites the tip of her index finger and pulls until her fingertip is exposed from the glove, then pushes it against his skin as she searches for a vein. Her hand is cold and Charon fights the urge to shiver at her touch.

She finds a prominent vein bulging at the bend of his elbow. She wipes the site clean with an alcoholic cloth and inserts the needle. The drug stings as it is injected into his bloodstream. He begins to sweat despite the fact that his body is freezing over with sudden anxiety. He feels a scream tearing up the back of his throat.

The full dosage is applied and the syringe is discarded. The scientist picks up another and repeats the process of finding a vein in his other arm. Charon is tense and his heart rate has spiked as a sense of impending doom overwhelms him. The scientist drags over an IV stand and Charon abruptly feels something cold surging up his arm. He can both taste and smell saline.

The scientist injects a syringe labeled LORAZEPAM 2mg into his IV until it, too, is empty. Charon feels the unnatural desire to flee. Something isn’t right here. His brain is telling him to run, that his life is in danger. His legs twitch in response to the threat. The machine hooked to his heart monitor beeps a warning as his BPM exceeds 150. The scientist produces another syringe labeled ADENOSINE and presses it into the IV. She quickly flushes it with the saline solution.

Charon is sweating bullets. Then, he feels pain bloom in his chest. He tightens his jaw and groans as he goes into temporary shock. The sensation is like his body is literally turning to stone. His eyes roll and his heart skips a beat.

The heart monitor settles and the warning beeps cease. His BPM has returned to an average of 70. His nerves are beginning to cool and the fight or flight reaction is fading. He falls back into his cot and takes a few deep breaths. Nothing has ever made him so afraid, and he has spent nearly half his life on the battlefield.

The scientist pulls off her rubber gloves and jots something down on a clipboard. She talks briefly to his colonel, but Charon’s ears are ringing so loud that he can’t hear them. When she leaves, the colonel follows her out and shuts the door, leaving him until he is called upon again.

By the time night falls, a dull ache has settled into Charon’s bones and muscles. The pain steadily becomes more fervent as the hours crawl by. Charon tosses and turns, groaning in discomfort. He feels as if he is being stretched. His muscles palpitate and his skin seems far too thin. His pillow and blankets have been soiled by sweat and he discards them to the floor.

Charon doesn’t know how long he’s been alone when the colonel returns with another scientist. This time it is the man who had approached him before Charon was sent here. The light reflects in his glasses as he shoves them up his nose, the wind catching the fringes of his lab coat as he briskly walks toward Charon’s cot. The pain is still present and Charon’s breathing is accelerated.

The scientist’s gaze sweeps over him and he beams. “Stand up, soldier,” he commands. Charon’s eyes flick to his employer and he bows his head in assent. When he complies, the ground seems much further away.

The scientist circles him before stopping in front of him. His neck cranes as he looks Charon in the face. Then he moves to his side and picks up an arm. It is noticeably heavier. He pokes at the still-sensitive muscles and Charon hisses through his teeth.

“Follow me.” The scientist beckons to the colonel as well and leads the two of them to an examination room. It has the appearance of a standard doctor’s office.

“Back against the wall,” the scientist instructs. “There.” He points to where a height measurement chart has been printed into the white-washed stone. Charon does as told. The scientist directs him to push his feet against the wall until his heels also meet the stone.

“Six feet, six inches,” the scientist reports as he writes something on his clipboard. Charon’s mind boggles. He was only six even before they...

Then he makes the connection. The woman who had administered medication to him. The night he’d spent in agony. Those were _growing pains_.

What the fuck have they done to him?

Charon stares at the scientist in disbelief. His employer is smiling at him, as if this is some sort of grand achievement. He wants to take both men and bash their skulls together.

But, of course, that would violate his contract, so he silently fumes. His life is no longer his own. It belongs to whoever holds that paper. Should he retaliate, he will be terminated.

The colonel steps forward to inspect him. He is much shorter. _No, I am much taller_ , Charon corrects. When Charon looks down, he sees that his musculature has swollen. His mind also seems more clear and perceptive to the goings-on around him, as if it has been sharpened.

The scientist finishes his note-taking and Charon is permitted to return to his room to recover from the rapid and unnatural growth of his body. He is furious, but he will never show it.

He isn’t allowed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is: my headcanon on how Charon became the behemoth that he is.
> 
> In my opinion, it is possible that Charon and others like him served as the first human subjects of FEV-I. This strain of FEV was created by altering the Pan-Immunity Virion, which was originally intended to be a response to the New Plague. It was not capable of producing super mutants as it lacked many of the effects seen in newer strains manufactured at the Mariposa Military Base. It did, however, still have a dramatic effect on those exposed to it.
> 
> I also expect that these changes to Charon’s cellular anatomy may have contributed to the fact that he ghoulified when the bombs fell. After all, the changes marked by FEV are congruent with the ghoul mutation. If he was not already genetically predisposed to the mutation (which was probably less likely in prewar humans), this could explain how he survived the war.
> 
>  _West Tek_ : https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/West_Tek
> 
>  _Forced Evolutionary Virus_ : https://falloutfacts.com/fallout-fev-virus
> 
>  _Colonel Robert Spindel_ : https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Robert_Spindel


	6. Guardian from Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon rescues Avery.

Another month went by and Fawkes had yet to return to Megaton. Avery was starting to worry about him. It wasn’t like the mutant to delay and he should surely have finished his research by now.

“Charon, I’m concerned about Fawkes,” he said as he paced the living room, though at this point he didn’t expect the ghoul to reply. Avery had a habit of voicing his thoughts aloud, but Charon wouldn’t converse with him unless absolutely necessary; and even then, their conversations were short. They typically revolved around combat strategies or safely bypassing otherwise dangerous terrain.

Charon was watching him as per usual, but just as Avery predicted, offered nothing. Avery sighed and went for the backpack he’d haphazardly discarded at the foot of the couch when they’d arrived the day before.

“We’re heading out. Get ready.”

“As you wish.”

•••

Avery, Charon and Dogmeat left under cover of darkness, the former hoping to make it to the ruins by morning. That plan never came to fruition as a flash radstorm assailed them. They took refuge in an abandoned house outside of DC, though well into the night, the rain only picked up. The storm was blinding in its intensity. Dogmeat dove under an old chair, whimpering as lightening cracked across the sky. It was almost funny, considering the dog would run straight into gunfire to defend his human, but was frightened by a bit of thunder.

Avery tested the chair to make sure it would hold his weight before sitting, reaching beneath it to stroke Dogmeat’s head. “It’s okay,” he cooed. Dogmeat tucked his tail between his legs and curled up into a furry ball.

Charon sat across the room, smoking a cigarette and deigning for once not to stare at him. He seemed simultaneously to be focused and far away. Even the next clap of thunder didn’t shake him. Avery wondered what he could possibly be thinking.

Something minuscule changed in his face and he bolted upright, grabbing his shotgun and heading for the door. “Charon, what’s-“

“Quiet,” the ghoul growled. Avery was too unnerved to be surprised by the command. “I see something.”

Sure enough, through the darkness and the rain, Avery could make out several large figures converging on them through a small hole in the wall; though he wasn’t able to tell what they were beyond the downpour. Charon narrowed his eyes and reached for the doorknob.

“Charon, we can’t go out there; there are too many!” Avery protested, grabbing his arm. He stiffened at the unexpected contact before yanking his arm free.

“You are not going. I am.”

“Wait, I-“

“You cannot go outside in this storm. You will get sick. And you will also get in my way.”

“Charon!” The ghoul slipped out the door and vanished into the night. Avery could see the outlines of the figures as they got closer. They were massive. Super mutants, perhaps? Besides ghouls, they were the only thing that could reasonably navigate a radstorm; but they seemed organized somehow and were advancing slowly. Super mutants weren’t tactical; they were all about brute force and rushing their targets. Something was very wrong.

Avery heard Charon’s gun fire through the rain and one of them dropped. Caution was thrown to the wind as the others went on full alert. They ran towards their enemy’s gunfire and another fell before they were firing back. Once they were close enough, Avery was able to distinguish what they were. Black power armor, plasma weapons. He began to panic.

Enclave soldiers.

 _Dammit! There’s no way Charon can take on all of them!_ Avery cursed as he gathered up his rifle and checked the clip. Full. He popped a Rad-X and threw the door open, just in time to see another soldier fall.

But they saw him, too, and immediately set their sights on him. The ghoul was too elusive and they were wasting their time on him. The Vault kid was the real target.

Plasma beams were shot at him from all sides and he was forced to spray and pray as he ducked behind a nearby rock. Then he heard Charon shout and broke from his hiding place to find him. What if he’d been shot? What if he was dying? Avery couldn’t let him die, he-

A plasma cell caught his leg and burned through the material of his Vault suit, revealing his blistering flesh to the irradiated rain. He screamed as he slid through the mud and crashed, throwing his weapon far from him. The Enclave soldier who had shot him skidded through the mud as well as a grenade landed beneath his feet, but there were more coming.

Avery was beginning to feel sick. The rain seeping into his open wound was giving him radiation poisoning. His vision blurred as he caught sight of gunfire in the distance.

Charon. He had to help Charon.

He crawled for his weapon, but searing pain shot from his leg and up his spine, addling him. Another Enclave soldier fired at him, exposing his upper arm and shoulder as it shredded through his suit. It was too much.

The world went dark.

•••

Avery awoke to bright fluorescent lights and a face he recognized, but hadn’t expected to see. It belonged to a ghoul, but not _his_ ghoul. Then he remembered: they were in a fight. He had to find Charon-

“Whoa, relax, kid. The sedative is still wearing off.” Dr. Barrows grabbed him by the shoulder - the uninjured one - and laid him back down in his cot.

“Where’s Charon?” Avery blurted, much louder than he meant to. He was rising before the doc pushed him down again.

“He’s fine. Went to go smoke. Said he didn’t want to do it around you; that you hated the smell or something.”

Avery relaxed and let out a long, deep breath. “Is he hurt?”

“Didn’t have a scratch on him when he got here, though he looked tired. Guess he carried you a long way.”

Oh, right, he was in Underworld... Charon would have had to haul him for at least half a day to get him here from where they were.

Maybe he really _did_ care about him.

“I’m glad you are all right, my friend.” A different voice, but he knew it immediately.

“Fawkes... you’re okay.”

The mutant looked perplexed for a moment, but then it dawned on him that he must have been gone longer than Avery had expected him to be. “Something came up and I felt the need to stay.”

“What happened?” Avery asked, sitting up despite Barrows’ grumbled orders before the doctor forced him back down yet again.

Fawkes motioned to a very dour looking ghoul with a head wrap and a medical brace on his left arm. “This fellow here was selling Aqua Pura to ghouls under the basis that it would improve their condition, though when I examined it, it was quite irradiated... more concentrated than I have ever seen it. When I asked him about it, the other ghouls turned on him. Seeing as I am responsible for his injuries, it only felt right to help the good doctor treat him.”

“Damn mutant bastard,” the ghoul muttered before turning his back on Avery’s inquisitive glance. Then the ghoul’s hair rolled to the side and he yelped before pulling it back onto his head.

“You’re not fooling anyone here with that, Griffon,” Barrows commented from across the room. The other ghoul, Griffon, growled. Fawkes rubbed his head and his cheeks flushed purple.

At that point, the doors to the Chop Shop opened and Charon ducked inside. Avery jumped off his cot and stopped the ghoul in place as he wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. Charon froze and lifted his arms away from him, giving him a wide-eyed look.

“Thank you, Charon,” Avery said before Barrows was lugging him back into bed.

“ _Stay put_.” Your damn leg isn’t healed yet.” But he only continued to smile. Charon was staring like he usually did, although his typical anger was replaced with confusion and just a bit of softness.

“I was only doing my job,” he replied before shifting his eyes away and taking a seat next to him. Charon refused to look at him for the duration of their stay in Underworld.

But at least he was no longer staring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are probably going to be a bit slower from here on out, but if everything goes to plan, there are only a few chapters left anyway.


	7. Postmortem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon relives the apocalypse.

“Charon, I have... a rather peculiar question to ask you.”

Charon blinked, a slight sign of unease. He said nothing. It didn’t matter if he did; the child would ask anyway.

“How old are you?”

Charon blinked again. Why did he want to know? Why did he even _care_?

“Old enough to be your grandfather’s grandfather.”

His employer had been writing on his notepad, but paused to look at him before his face cracked up into a big grin. “Charon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a joke.”

The side of Charon’s mouth twitched impulsively and he felt a smile forming that he immediately quashed. “I wish it was.”

That broke him. The boy laughed, and not borne of cruelty or his inherent suffering. No, he’d laughed because Charon had made him; _with_ him, not _at_ him.

He didn’t fight the next smile that tugged at his lips. It felt good to be able to let down his guard for a moment and have an actual human-to-human interaction. When was the last time someone hadn’t treated him like a machine?

After his employer eventually stopped laughing, though, he asked again. “That is irrelevant to our contract.”

Straight back to his conditioning.

His employer’s smile dissolved into a straight line and he leaned back into his chair, as if he was trying to shift his own burden into it. The look of resignation on his face made Charon feel regretful in a way. He didn’t like the idea of somehow disappointing the boy.

“230.”

His employer’s eyes snapped to his. He looked shocked for some reason. Why was he surprised; he had admitted himself that ghouls could live to be centuries old.

“... or maybe 231. I do not remember the exact date of my birth.”

“So... you were a young adult when the bombs fell.”

Charon nodded. His employer sporadically recorded something on his notepad before returning his full attention to him. He was utterly fascinated now.

“What was it like?”

•••

Proceeding Colonel Spindel’s reassignment to Mariposa Military Base, Designation: Charon is left without an employer. Two days pass and he is beginning to get nervous, not because of the threat of termination, but because he is without purpose. His life has no meaning if he has nobody to protect.

On the morning of January 10, 2077, he is introduced to a woman. It is 5:30 when she enters the barracks for him. She is a wispy old woman with obviously dyed blonde hair. Her face speaks of one too many facelifts and she smirks as she pulls his contract from the breast pocket of her bright red suit. Charon is immediately on his feet and scrambles to her. She is his new lifeline.

This seems to please her and her haggard face is distorted as her smirk warps into a twisted smile that fails to reach her eyes. She introduces herself as Representative Marilyn Pellati. They board a plane to DC the same afternoon.

Guarding a Representative of the House turns out to be a monotonous task. Oftentimes he serves as a door guard more than a bodyguard. Sometimes he questions why she bothered to purchase him at all.

Then the media releases a conspiracy. Headlines read: Representative Pellati Guilty of Treason! Collusion with Chinese Spies! E-mails are leaked that show the proof. That’s when the assassination attempts begin.

But they never make it past Charon.

American citizens are up in arms and impeachment is a hot topic for debate. Suspicious acts of terrorism are reported in areas where dissent is highest. The media retracts its statements as paychecks arrive in the mail.

But America doesn’t forget, so Pellati keeps Charon near.

After a particularly stressful week, Pellati is in her bedchamber with Charon keeping close watch outside. She emerges dressed in a skimpy black nightgown and instructs Charon to come inside. He hesitates, leery of the implications.

“Charon,” she begins, making sure authority is present in her tone. She sits at the edge of her overly-extravagant bed and crosses her legs. “I order you to fuck me.”

A snarl overtakes his usually passive face and he fails to comply. The anger he sees in her is immediate. “Now!” she demands.

“My contract entitles you to my combat services and nothing else,” Charon recites. She jumps to a standing position and nearly wraps her hands around him before she remembers that this would violate the contract and backs away. She dismisses him and does not call upon him again for quite some time.

Charon finds that he is relieved by this.

He sees her again on the morning of October 23rd. He only remembers that date for one simple reason.

She is frantically filling a suitcase with her valuables when he is summoned. “Charon, escort me to the nearest bunker.” He does not question the order and they arrive in record time.

But it is too late.

An ICBM can be seen as it re-enters the Earth’s atmosphere from orbit. Pellati wails and the neat line of American elites awaiting entry to their private bomb shelter devolves into a mob of animals fighting to get inside. They push and shove so much that nobody manages to make it to safety.

The bomb falls and explodes, and though it is several hundred miles away, the effect is instantaneous. Charon is blinded by white light and deafened by the sheer volume of the blast.

It is then that he knows he is dead.

He can no longer sense his mistress or anybody else. He staggers and falls to the ground, and feels as if he has just been tossed into an oven. He is not sure if he manages to scream; he can feel it in his throat, but no sound is made. He wraps his arms around himself, useless as the gesture is, and feels the top layer of skin peeling from his body. His clothes have long since been burned away.

When sight and sound returns, it is impossible to tell how much time has passed. Everything feels foreign. He cannot move as even the slightest motion causes fire to erupt throughout his body all over again. All he can do is gaze ahead of him. He can barely comprehend what he is seeing.

There is nothing left.

The once pristine architecture of the US capital has been almost entirely eroded away, its structures toppled and stained black. He is the only one alive. All that remains of the others are their shadows, burnt eternally into the pavement.

The sky is a shroud of dust and ash that the sun cannot penetrate. Though Charon’s skin still blazes, he feels the unnatural coldness of the Earth. Snow begins to fall much harder than he has ever seen it. If he does not find shelter, he will be buried alive.

Charon forces himself to move despite the unimaginable torment as his skin continues to fall from his body in large pieces. He doesn’t understand how he survived, but he doubts he will make it through what is yet to come.

Nuclear winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a lot later than I had intended it to be. I sat on some ideas for a while that initially sounded good, but when I went to write them, they just didn’t work. That being said, this chapter has undergone a total of four complete rewrites. I question whether it turned out satisfactory or not considering all of the discarded ideas, so if it’s off or otherwise fails to hit the mark in any way, let me know.
> 
>  _Mariposa Military Base_ :  https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Mariposa_Military_Base
> 
>  _The Great War_ :  https://falloutfacts.com/the-great-war-october-23-2077
> 
>  _Ghouls (and the ghoulification process)_ :  https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Ghoul


	8. Rebirth (Postmortem, Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enclave claims Charon’s contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order to keep the previous chapter from running overlong, I have divided it into two parts. Therefore, this chapter will also be seen from Charon’s perspective.
> 
>  **Song suggestion:** “War of Change” by _Thousand Foot Krutch_.

_What the hell is he?_

Voices surround him.

_Some kind of mutant?_

Some, he vaguely remembers.

 _Yes... but he is an asset nonetheless_.

Others are completely alien.

_Commence with the experiment!_

The pain begins.

Charon screams, delirious. A needle is in his arm, pumping poison into his veins. His heart feels it will burst by the speed at which it pounds in his chest. He vomits, trying to expel the substance from himself, but it is in his blood.

Strapped to an examination table like a restrained lab rat, he cannot fight back. He is not even allowed to see his tormentors as he has been blindfolded.

As the poison takes hold, he feels as if he is liquidating from the inside out. Everything burns, reminiscent of hellfire. There is naught he can do but endure.

Just as he has done countless times before.

... And it goes on for days.

 _It has failed again, Sir_.

 _Well, start again! We can’t allow these freaks to continue to roam the continent_.

_Sir, if I may suggest a theory... his radiation exposure may be too great. Perhaps we require a different subject-_

_If we can’t cleanse them all, then the entire project is a failure. Now, I reiterate: start again_.

 _Yes, Sir_.

Charon then hears somebody screaming in the distance. Blood drips down his fingertips. Suddenly, he is free and has a man in a lab coat dangling from his iron grasp.

“No more,” Charon growls wickedly. “ _No fucking more_.”

He rams the scientist against the wall and swipes a knife over his throat. The man mewls pathetically.

“They do not dig graves close enough to Hell for the likes of you.”

“Stop this! I am your employer!” Charon hears none of it. He holds the knife back before lunging forward.

“Fawkes!”

Then, he is on the ground, impeded by 600 pounds of raw muscle. Even he, with his enhanced strength, cannot hope to break free. Yet still, he thrashes and claws at the weight above him, like the feral monstrosity he is.

“Charon, stop!”

He pauses as the order compels him. He inhales deep, ragged breaths and opens his eyes once more. He is not in the Enclave lab any longer. He’s in the Jefferson Memorial with his current employer.

He looks above himself and the mutant known as Fawkes keeps a wary hand on his chest as his nerves continue to settle. His head swerves until he pinpoints his employer, then he sees that a shallow red line is drawn across his collar.

Then, his gaze falls to the boy’s feet, where he beholds the weapon that has done this. It is Charon’s very own combat knife. His nerves newly alight and he begins to toil once more.

He has harmed his employer. He is compromised. He must be terminated.

Now, Fawkes is struggling to hold him in place. He turns onto his stomach and crawls for his shotgun, left standing against a nearby wall. Charon can hear the boy calling his name, but he is far away again.

The mutant above him shifts a massive arm and then jams a needle into an exposed vein on Charon’s hand. He barely feels it. Nothing matters to him anymore; his life is forfeit.

Fawkes inserts another needle and Charon feels his body relaxing. He is able to fight no longer and collapses under the mutant’s bulk. Fawkes continues to hold him down until finally his employer’s voice registers to him once more.

“Charon...?”

Charon dares a glance at the boy and he tentatively fingers the wound on his throat before Charon is closing his eyes again. “I have violated our contract,” he announces, “and must be terminated.”

“It isn’t fatal,” the boy explains, as if this somehow excuses his actions. “You barely broke the surface.”

“And if I had?” Charon argues. His employer sits back on his heels. What he says next is the last thing he expects to hear.

“This is a good thing.”

Charon looks at him in disbelief. The boy must be mad. How is his life being threatened by his own bodyguard a _good_ thing?

“Allow me to explain.” He rises to his feet and Fawkes’ grip loosens slightly as Charon watches, unflinching. “You were having a flashback, yes?”

Charon nods slowly. “Answer me this: have you ever turned on an employer while they held your contract?”

This time, Charon shakes his head. “So, the flashback was not entirely accurate, am I correct in saying so?”

His gaze falters and he reflects inwardly for a moment, unsure of where he is going with this. “Flashbacks appear to be reality to those that experience them. That’s why this moment is so pivotal to your recovery.” Charon’s eyes follow him as he paces. A proud smile shows on his face, directed towards him.

“Don’t you see? You’ve finally done it! You fought back against those that would harm you. You’ve proven that you’re more than just a slave. You are your own entity, and that part of you that you’ve repressed for so long is finally being brought to light.”

Charon isn’t sure he fully understands what the boy is saying, but he’s sure he feels it in a way. The contract still calls to him, commands him that his service is ended, that he is to be terminated immediately. But it is not nearly as strong as it once was. His own voice calls as well from the far off corners of his mind where it was once forgotten, reminding him of who he used to be; or rather, who he has always been.

His employer smiles reassuringly and offers Charon his hand, helping him to stand from the cold, hard ground. He is elated, and Charon would be lying if he said it wasn’t contagious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My theory of Charon’s past as shown here is that after the bombs fell, he was recovered by John Henry Eden’s chapter of the Enclave and taken to Site R (renamed Raven Rock post-war), where he was used as a subject for experimentation on drugs similar to FEV Curling-13, seen in Fallout 2. This FEV mutation would later be perfected by John Henry Eden himself and offered to the Lone Wanderer for injection into Project Purity. This modified strain had the function of contaminating the water supply in a way that would rid the Wasteland of irradiated humans such as super mutants and ghouls, but also otherwise normal humans harboring what the Enclave deemed as abnormal amounts of radiation, thus making them unclean. This would only leave alive those along the lines of Vault Dwellers and others who had managed to avoid radiation exposure entirely.
> 
>  _John Henry Eden_ :  https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/John_Henry_Eden
> 
>  _The Enclave_ :  https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Enclave
> 
>  _Raven Rock (Site R)_ :  https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Raven_Rock
> 
>  _FEV Curling-13_ :  https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/FEV_Curling-13
> 
>  _Modified FEV (John Henry Eden)_ :  https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Modified_FEV


	9. Alone In December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery and Charon discuss Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, my lovely readers! Have some two week late Christmas fluff! ❤️
> 
> The last few paragraphs after the break (i.e. •••) are from Charon’s point of view.

Each day that passes them by, Avery notices that Charon is becoming more comfortable with his new lifestyle. He still doesn’t say much, but the malicious eye he once turned towards him has thawed, and if Avery isn’t mistaken, he even finds an inkling of fondness there.

“Charon, do you remember Christmas?”

Charon was stretched out on the couch, perusing through an old gun catalog when he glanced Avery’s way curiously. “Vaguely. It was mostly forgotten after the War. Not even the prewar ghouls in Underworld celebrated it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me much,” Avery started, pulling two cans of Aqua Pura from the fridge before finding a seat in his chair. He offered one to Charon, but the ghoul respectfully declined. “We used to celebrate it in the Vault. My father was pretty religious, so it was an important holiday to him.”

Avery took a sip from his can of water and sighed. “I miss him. This is the first Christmas I’ve ever had without him.”

The hard lines of Charon’s face softened ever so slightly and his expression was one akin to sympathy. Silence stretched between them until Avery finally bid to venture, “Do you... remember your parents at all?”

And just like that, Charon’s face returned to the impassive mask that Avery had come to associate with him. “No. I was drafted into the military when I was 13 years old. My training forbade any contact outside the Army.”

“What...? They wouldn’t let you see your own family?”

Charon shrugged a single shoulder. “It reduced the potential that I would be compromised.”

Avery gripped his can of water so tightly that it crunched in his hand. “That’s completely screwed up. You were a _child_.”

“Desperate men do desperate things.”

Avery groaned to himself and slumped into his chair. He was feeling tired again. “I don’t understand how you just let it go. It didn’t even happen to me personally and it _still_ makes me furious.”

“I have not.”

Charon closed his magazine and sat up, propping his elbows on his knees. “I have always hated the masters I served. The things I have done... the people I have hurt...”

Charon dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. “I have been passed between conmen, Raiders, and slavers. I have killed innocent men, women and children, and sent countless others along a path of suffering. I have raped and I have pillaged.”

Avery’s eyes grew round and his mouth fell open in astonishment. It wasn’t beyond anything he’d imagined, but to hear the ghoul say it and to see him so effected by it was something else entirely. “Charon, it’s...”

“No. It is not.” The barest quiver could be heard in his voice. “No... I am nothing but a weapon. My sole purpose is to destroy.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“ _No, it isn’t!_ ”

Avery was standing now, his fists balled at his sides. “What those people made you do wasn’t _your_ fault. They abused you!”

Charon looked up then and his eyes glinted dangerously, the emotion Avery had seen there all but gone. He tensed, as if preparing to defend himself. 

Avery took a step back to collect himself, then all but collapsed in his chair. “I’m sorry, Charon... I didn’t mean to get so worked up. I need to be more professional.”

The ghoul just stared at him warily. Great, he’d finally gotten Charon to open up about his past and he’d mussed it up. He scolded himself inwardly. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and his own emotions getting the best of him. He’d left the Vault nearly a year ago now, but he was still having trouble adjusting to it all after the trauma of the situation, not to mention watching his father die in front of him shortly after.

“I think I’m going to retire early,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I made food earlier; it’s on the counter. Help yourself.”

Avery could feel Charon watching his back as he trudged up the stairs. When he made it to his room, he didn’t even bother changing out of his Vault suit. He just fell into bed and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

•••

Well into the night, after several hours of tossing and no hope of sleep coming anytime soon, Charon took to raiding their stockpile of beer. The boy never drank, so he doubted he’d be missing it, but he noticed something particularly out of place when he entered the kitchen.

Sitting on the counter by the leftovers was a small wooden box with his name carved into the top. He picked it up and examined it closely, turning it this way and that. He heard a light, metallic clang when he flipped the box upside down.

Well, it certainly wasn’t his, even though his name was on it for whatever reason. Curiosity got the better of him and he popped the lid open. What he found inside was nothing short of a shock.

It was a relatively well-repaired XS big dot sight for his shotgun. He picked it up carefully, observing that other than a few scratches, it looked almost brand new. He found a note sitting beneath it that read:

_Charon,_

_I recovered this when we were out scavenging one day. It needed some work to make it functional, and unfortunately I haven’t been able to test it, but hopefully it’s to your liking._

_Merry Christmas,  
Avery_

Charon mulled over the note for several long moments. None of his employers had ever bothered to do anything kind for him before. It caught him entirely off-guard. Finally, after looking it over for what felt like the hundredth time, he folded it and gently placed it back inside the box for safekeeping.

“You too, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like any oppressive military regime, I have a sneaking suspicion that the propaganda-fueled American military of the Fallout universe wasn’t above drafting and indoctrinating women and children as well as men. I theorize that drafts began in 2060 during the Third Red Scare. Children like Charon most likely would have undergone intense brainwashing, propaganda exposure, and what essentially amounts to grooming to send them on their way to becoming the perfect “super soldiers.” Once they became adults, the ones that showed the most promise would have then been subjected to further brainwashing and placed under a contract to guarantee their death should they ever be “lead astray” from the teachings of the military. This ensured that they were never compromised by enemy ideologies such as communism and promised the utmost loyalty to their employers. After all, soldiers were “expendable” and “easily replaced.”


	10. Walk With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected issue throws off a trip to Rivet City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is back to normal formatting and is told from Charon’s point of view.

Weakness.

It had been a single, solitary moment of weakness that had him spewing out details of his past. Charon knew his employer was judging him. He could feel him staring even at this very moment. He’d never cared before, but for some reason, it mattered to him now.

 _Weakness_.

It was high noon and the sun was bearing down on them with all its scorn. The trek back to Rivet City had been slightly delayed by a dysfunctional ball joint in the left leg of his employer’s power armor. Now they were rerouted for the Citadel as no amount of jury rigging on the boy’s behalf had been enough for a decent repair. For all of his intelligence, he was no mechanic.

Charon had taken the initiative to scout ahead, partly due to frustration at their current situation. They were out in the open with no cover for miles and neither one of them were exactly subtle. Hell, the boy’s suit nearly blinded him if he tried to look back with its fresh coat of polish.

“Eyes on your surroundings, Smoothskin.”

The boy nearly toppled when he attempted to lift the defunct leg, but managed to stay standing and gave him an awkward salute of acknowledgement.

Charon hated those fucking suits. They weren’t nearly as reliable as they’d been advertised. Maintaining one even before the bombs had been a monumental task, but now the scarcity of resources and lack of expertise made it a nearly insurmountable feat. He’d wonder why the boy bothered if he’d never seen him shoot before. He was better off exclusively in an office space.

Dogmeat trotted closely behind Charon, clearly feeling bored himself as he nipped playfully at his heels. When Charon would try to shoo him away, he’d circle around him and bark. As if the boy alone wasn’t enough of a homing beacon to their location in his own right.

Charon grumbled to himself. He needed to kill something.

•••

Well, he got what he wished for.

With the sun sinking into the horizon and darkness looming came the Wasteland’s natural predators. A stray pack of Raiders wandered into his field of view, oblivious to their presence. Charon signaled behind him for his employer to halt. The sound of his footsteps ceased and the dog wandered back to his owner to investigate.

Time to test out his new sight.

The thing was truly a marvel. It had nightvision powered by a solar battery, allowing him to deal with threats at a much further distance than he previously could. The first Raider fell as soon as the dot sight marked him.

“One...”

Charon smirked as he watched the other two panic through his scope, their guns whirling around this way and that in search of their assailant. He doubted they’d have even been a worry if he gave them a chance, but he wasn’t feeling very generous today.

Another shot. “Two...”

“Show yourself, motherfucker! Stop hiding like a bitch-“

He hit the ground before he finished his taunt. Charon smiled cruelly and lowered his gun.

“Three.”

Charon signed again and his employer immediately flicked on his headlamp. The sun had gone entirely, shrouding them all in the black night of the Wasteland.

“Trouble?” the boy asked when he caught up. Charon shook his head, eying the corpses of the three Raiders just ahead of them.

“Not anymore.”

•••

One more hour of travel brought the Citadel into view, but by then, his employer’s movements had grown sluggish with exhaustion. He gave another heavy breath as he forced his leg along with no assistance from the power armor’s hydraulics.

“Can we take a break?” he panted, bending down and placing his hands on his knees as his breathing caught up. Somehow, Charon couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed with the delay.

“It is your call. You are my employer.” He glanced around, “Though I do not like the look of this place.”

The boy managed to huff out a small laugh as he straightened his back. “Me neither.” Taking another step, he would have fallen had Charon not caught him. He landed against his side with an “Oof!” as the ghoul held him up. Dogmeat bounded to the other side of the boy and leaned on him, as if trying to assist.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he rasped. Charon threw his armor-clad hand over his shoulder, unable to feel the metal through the leather padding of his armor.

“I will help you. It is not much further.” 

And so, with Charon and Dogmeat either side of him, they stepped forward in unison.

“Thank you, Charon,” his employer mumbled weakly. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

And Charon smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter checklist is:
> 
> ☑ Charon getting to use his new toy/being a general badass.
> 
> ☑ Dead Raiders.
> 
> ☑ Cute doggo.
> 
> ☑ Warm fuzzies.
> 
> ☑ Bromance.
> 
> Did I get them all? 😁


	11. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Citadel is burning.

The night was silent, eerily so, as the odd trio made their way onward. Nary a sound was made but the scuffling of their feet. Not even an ant or a molerat dared to stir. It should have been a relief; it meant there was no danger lurking to take advantage of Avery’s vulnerable state. But he could feel it in his very bones; a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach warning him of imminent danger.

And as if he had willed it to be, the darkness was lit ablaze.

Avery, Charon and Dogmeat all were forced to avert their eyes as a burst of white light flashed ahead, followed by an earth-shattering _boom!_ A small mushroom cloud bloomed in the wake of the blast. A mini nuke.

And it was happening at the Citadel.

“We have to move!” Avery panicked. If the Brotherhood was under attack, that meant that Project Purity was also in jeopardy. After all they’d sacrificed to start the purifier, he couldn’t let it be destroyed... or worse.

Despite his malfunctioning suit and fatigue, Avery managed to pick up his pace to a brisk jog. They covered the remaining ground quickly, but by the time they reached the Citadel, the front gate was breeched and the bailey was burning with full force.

Streaks of red and green whizzed through the air as the Brotherhood and Enclave remnants fired upon one another. Soldiers fell on both sides, either shot down or succumbing to the thick cloud of radiation the mini nuke left behind. The fire was closing in on them all, forcing the combatants closer to each other.

Avery didn’t hesitate. He pulled his assault rifle from its sling and jumped into the fray. He could seldom hear Dogmeat howling and Charon shouting after him, though it was impossible to make out what he said over the sounds of gunfire.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. To his left, another Brotherhood Knight collapsed. An Enclave soldier engaged him, and Avery aimed for his visor. He missed and struck the enemy agent in the throat, but it killed him all the same. He fell to the ground.

One after another, both allies and enemies dwindled in number. Though there were more Brotherhood than Enclave remaining, the Citadel’s A-ring had been stormed by an insurgent of enemy troops. Once the bailey was clear, Brotherhood forces found and eliminated the intruders.

Avery had been left behind, his leg now entirely immobile as several plasma rounds had made contact. The limb was unresponsive, and because of this, he was unable to fully eject from the suit.

He was a sitting duck.

While he was struggling with the release mechanism, something latched on to his shoulder. He gasped and threw a punch in the direction of his attacker, but a large hand caught it.

“Sir, with all due respect... what in the fuck were you thinking?” Avery relaxed. It was only Charon.

“They needed my help.”

“They would have been fine without you. You are a liability in that suit.”

“I couldn’t just leave them-“

“No,” Charon growled deeply. “Shut up. It is my duty to protect you, but with the way you needlessly rush into danger, that is becoming increasingly difficult.”

Avery turned to look Charon in the eye, prepared to stand his ground, but faltered when they made eye contact. Charon was _pissed_ , barely able to contain his fury. Avery shrunk a little bit.

By now, Charon’s voice had risen to a shout. “You are foolish. Stupid, even. You are the luckiest son of a bitch I have ever seen; you cannot fight; you cannot shoot. You do not make plans, you just act. You are an idiot; the only reason you are even alive is because the mutant and I protect you! You would die if left to your own devices!”

Avery bristled at that. “You know what, Charon? You’re always so rude and nasty to me, and honestly, I’m getting tired of it! All I’ve ever tried to do is help you, and you treat me like you can’t stand me! And I don’t _need_ your protection, or even _want_ it for that matter!”

“What does how I treat you have to do with any of this? And if you do not want my protection, why did you buy my contract? Either allow me to do my work or give me to somebody more competent in survival! I will not die in vain for someone who would needlessly throw their own life away!”

At that point, Avery snapped. “Charon,” he breathed. “You’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The only indication that Charon had heard him was the slight look of confusion that disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Are you certain that is what you wish?”

Avery tilted his head down and glared at him from behind his visor. Charon gave him a humorless smirk. “Very well.”

Then, the ghoul struck him.

Avery responded immediately with a punch of his own. Fists flew back and forth, but no damage was dealt to either; Charon always caught Avery’s blows, but likewise was unable to penetrate his ex-employer’s power armor, though he did leave some sizable dents behind. Dogmeat whined from somewhere behind them, bouncing back and forth between them indecisively.

Neither one of them noticed when the Brotherhood emerged from inside the Citadel.

“Feral!” One of them called, alerting his fellows. “We’ve got a feral in the bailey!”

The cocking of several guns caused both Avery and Charon to pause. Avery quickly held up his hands. Charon glowered at them over his shoulder.

“Wait, he’s not a feral; don’t shoot-“

“Take it down!”

“Stand down! That’s the Lone Wanderer!”

But it was too late. A deafening shot rang out. Avery acted on pure instinct, jumping in front of his companion...

... and the bullet shredded through the plating of his already damaged armor.

Blood erupted from his leg as the bullet impacted into the bone and _exploded_ from the inside. Avery screamed so loud that his voice broke as he crashed into a heap on the ground. Everything sounded fuzzy as his ears rang. His face was drenched in a torrent of sweat and tears, and he writhed on the ground for a moment before his Brotherhood allies rushed to his side.

Charon saw him fall. The man that shot him didn’t live a moment longer. With everyone distracted, nobody witnessed his sudden death.

“Go get Dr. Li!” one of the Paladins shouted to nobody in particular as he pried open the destroyed power armor leg. Inside was a mess of shattered bone and blood, barely connected by torn tissue and ligaments. He did all he knew how to, ejecting from his own power armor and ripping off his shirt to attempt to slow the bleeding, but the injury was so serious that it was doing little good. Only small fragments of bone remained attached to his knee; the rest had been completely blown off. Avery began to shake.

“Move!” Dr. Li ordered, pushing the Paladin out of the way. “Shit, he’s seizing! Somebody, help me put him on his side!”

Charon was the first to comply, grabbing Avery and easily rolling him over. He retched, blood pouring from his open mouth as he began to spasm uncontrollably. When Charon tried to hold him down, the doctor scolded him.

“Don’t. There’s nothing you can do, but it will be over soon.”

And though it only lasted a few seconds, it was one of the most difficult things Charon ever had to witness. Avery reawakened when the seizure ended, only to cry and scream in shock and pain at his mangled limb. The doctor was busy administering a shot of epinephrine to stem the flow of blood in order to stabilize him enough to be transferred to the medical bay.

Dr. Li pulled off her lab coat, tossing away the bloodied shirt and replacing it around the bleeding limb. Charon remained on standby, knowing there was nothing he could do; but he’d be damned if he was leaving now.

Finally, the doctor addressed him and the Paladin. “You two, go fetch a gurney so we can take him inside. If he’s out here much longer, he’s going to contract an infection or radiation poisoning. Quickly now, move!”

Charon had never been so eager to obey an order in his life. With the help of the Paladin, Charon placed him gently on the gurney. He whimpered and cried out in agony, begging them to let him be still, and Charon could swear he physically felt his heart break. But it was for his own good, and soon, Avery was safely inside and sent into surgery. Charon waited outside the door, bloody hands clasped tightly together, doing something he never thought he’d do.

Praying for his employer to survive.


	12. On Death’s Doorstep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you don’t realize what you have until it’s been taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Song suggestion:** “True Love’s Last Kiss” by _Eternal Eclipse_.
> 
> And no, before you ask, this is **not** turning into a love story.

Time stood still, even as the sun rose and eventually fell again. Doctors avoided looking at him as they walked by, entering and exiting the med bay. He could hear them talking about him, but he didn’t care to listen.

It wasn’t until Dr. Li appeared, exhausted and barely standing, that somebody truly acknowledged him. The look she gave him was accusatory, as if this was all his fault. He met her gaze with a cold stare.

The doctor sneered at him and whirled on her high heels, whisking herself away down the hall. Charon dug his nails into his thighs before calling after her. “Wait.”

The doctor kept her back turned, but offered him a side-long glance. “What?”

“How is he?”

“His condition is serious. He’s unlikely to survive.”

Charon closed his eyes. The news struck him like a bullet to the chest. His throat felt suddenly tight and a small tear slid down his cheek.

“... But,” the doctor continued. “He’s lived through impossible odds before.”

Charon barely lifted his head, the weight seeming far too heavy in the moment. “What do you mean?” he whispered brokenly.

“May I sit?”

Charon grunted as he slid closer to the edge of the bench, giving the doctor enough room to join him there. “What do you _really_ know about the Lone Wanderer?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “Just that he started the purifier.”

“And do you know how he did it?” The doctor crossed her legs, bouncing her foot idly as she awaited his reply. Charon shook his head. The boy rarely talked about himself.

“The first time the Enclave attempted to take over Project Purity, they nearly succeeded. One of their highest ranking officers, Colonel Autumn, was able to slip past our defenses and enter the Memorial’s control room while we were conducting repairs.

“The Project wasn’t ready; it was still missing a crucial component to make it functional. But the Enclave was prepared to take it anyway. They would have eventually got it working and poisoned the water supply, killing almost everyone who drank their modified water. Their goal has always been to purge the Wasteland of mutants and ‘unclean’ humans.”

Charon growled to himself. He knew the motives of the corrupt American government all too well. But, truth be told, he’d never cared about Project Purity before. He’d written it off as a fruitless endeavor; an impossibility. Purified water hardly mattered to a ghoul anyway, but he’d never known to what extent the Project could be abused.

Dr. Li continued. “In order to save the Project, Avery’s father activated the purifier early, flooding the control room with lethal amounts of radiation. He died almost instantly, but Colonel Autumn survived and occupied the Project. They eventually learned about the G.E.C.K. - the purifier’s missing component - and waited for Avery to retrieve it for them. When he succeeded, he brought it back as planned. Colonel Autumn and Avery fought to the death, and Avery won. With the help of the Brotherhood, we were able to take it back.

“But a roadblock remained. The control room was still highly irradiated. But the boy was just as brave as his father, or as stupid as I’ve always said, and entered the control room to install the G.E.C.K. He barely managed to get it operational before he passed out. We were certain he was dead.

“When the radiation was cleared by the purifier, we sent in a hazard team to retrieve his corpse. But as you may well have guessed by now, he was still alive.”

Uncharacteristically of the large ghoul, his eyes went wide with shock and awe. “We didn’t know if he’d make it after all of that radiation exposure, but by some unknown miracle, he did. Two weeks of intense radiation treatment and he woke up as if it never happened. Everyone was so relieved. Without him, the Wasteland would never have had clean water. Even today, he’s Project Purity’s main engineer. He took it upon himself to learn the system inside and out.”

Dr. Li sighed and regarded Charon seriously. He was stunned into complete silence. “And that bullet he took for you? That was a .50 cal. He’s only alive right now because his power armor absorbed most of the impact. We’ve stabilized him, but he’s lost a lot of blood. If he survives, there’s no chance he will keep his leg.”

It was all so overwhelming. Charon’s head fell again, and that’s when the tears finally broke forth. And he _sobbed_. It had taken all of this for Charon to realize just how good of a man his employer was. He didn’t throw himself in harm’s way for no reason; he did it because he felt he had something worth defending. Charon was someone he’d deemed valuable enough to trade his own life for. And not because he was tied to a contract that _forced_ him to do so.

Dr. Li pat Charon’s shoulder sympathetically as he trembled. She offered him a handkerchief, which he accepted, but only managed to clutch in his hand. He was frozen by the fear of what he might lose. He wanted to thank the Lone Wanderer for everything he’d done; wanted to shake his hand; wanted to fight by his side as he helped those in need. He wanted to be his _friend_.

He just wanted one last chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
> 
> - _Mark Twain_


	13. The Final Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery’s fate is decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Song suggestion:** “Diamond Eyes” by _Shinedown_.

Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes turn to hours. Hours turn to days. Slowly, time becomes irrelevant.

Charon suffers in silence. Nobody bothers to speak to him; even Dr. Li ignores him, too preoccupied with her patient. His employer.

Avery.

His name is _Avery_.

He hasn’t slept since the day of the incident. He is tired. The stress and the worry have drained him of everything. He slumps, and his eyes slowly close...

Then, the white walls of the med bay turn black as they are licked by flames. He sits still as it all burns around him. The fire circles him, but he is cold. So cold. He welcomes their embrace as he begins to burn.

The flames part and a hand reaches for him. It touches his shoulder and squeezes him encouragingly. It is impossibly white, offsetting his own darkness. He sees a spark of amber through the flames.

_Don’t give up. I never did._

Then the flames disappear, and the boy does, too.

And he is alone again.

“Hey, _ghoul!_ ”

His eyes pop open and he grabs at the hand retracting itself from him, pulling it and the person attached to it closer. It is a woman in red robes. “Get off of me!” she screams. Charon blinks and lets go.

The woman rubs her wrist where his fingers encircled her, as if trying to wipe him away, and she glares. “The doctor told me to come get you. The Lone Wanderer’s awake.”

Charon is gone before the woman can even take another breath. He throws open the doors, and there, propped up by several pillows is Avery, talking cheerfully to Dr. Li.

When the doors collide with the wall, they both look towards the source of the commotion. Avery’s calm expression is replaced with surprise.

“Charon? What are you doing here?”

Charon rushes to the side of the bed and kneels to look his employer straight in the eyes. “I never left.”

Avery’s brow scrunches together. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that you’re here, but... didn’t I fire you?”

Charon goes rigid for a moment as he suddenly remembers. “Yes.”

“And...” Avery hesitates. “Hasn’t it been more than 72 hours?”

Charon thinks for a moment. What was the significance of that number? He goes numb when it hits him.

His contract has expired.

Avery shifts to sit up further and grunts in pain, the sound pulling Charon from the whirlwind inside of his skull. That’s when he notices Avery’s leg is missing. He bows his head in unspoken shame.

“It’s funny,” Avery begins conversationally as he wiggles the stub that remains of his limb. “I can barely even tell it’s gone. If I didn’t know better, I’d be up hopping around right now. Well, trying to, anyway.”

Charon looks at his face and sees that he’s smiling. His eyes are bruised and he looks exhausted. A thousand red dots litter his arms where needles have entered his flesh. He is connected to at least five different machines. His ribs are showing from the weight he’s lost. He looks nothing short of emaciated, yet, he’s _still_ smiling.

He was always smiling.

“Avery,” Charon manages, and Avery starts, surprised that he used his name. “I am sorry. If not for me-“

“-I wouldn’t be alive at all.”

Charon glances at him curiously. “You weren’t wrong when you said that. Though, you probably could have been nicer about it.” He laughs out the last half of the sentence. His grin stretches wider and Charon feels his resolve shattering. He jerks his head away and wipes a tear on the back of his hand.

Avery waits patiently and pretends not to notice what Charon is doing. He whispers to Dr. Li and she nods, heading towards the exit.

“Don’t touch him,” she instructs Charon as she walks through the doors. “He’s still susceptible to infection.” Then, she is gone.

“So...” Avery tries cautiously when Charon remains silent. “What will you do now? Find somebody else to hold your contract?”

Charon wipes his eyes again and thinks it over. The contract seems so insignificant now. The anxiety of disobeying it still prods at him, but after all that has happened, he lacks the energy to care.

“I will serve you, if you will have me.”

Avery’s brow rises almost comically high. “But I fired you?” he questions.

Charon waves the question away. “You have always given me the right to choose. Therefore, I choose to serve you.”

Avery shows all of his teeth as another grin breaks his lips apart. “I accept, but only if...” he trails off, contemplating if he should continue.

Charon raises his own brow. “Yes?”

“We burn the contract.”

At that, Charon dares to reflect the grin on Avery’s face, even if it is a bit more malicious. “It would be my pleasure.”

Avery holds out his hand, and Charon reaches for it before he stops in midair. “The doctor said not to touch you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Charon rolls his eyes and gives his hand a firm shake before letting go.

Avery bounces upright and his eyes glitter with mischief. “Well, now that _that’s_ settled, we have to plan what to do with the Enclave! Maybe we’ll get to use Liberty Prime again! Oh, but first, we'll have to go get Fawkes-“

“Settle down, kid. Take it one day at a time.”

Avery just laughs and plops back down into bed.

It was good to have him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue remains! I hope you’ve enjoyed the story thus far!


End file.
